


Not Just My Wingman

by fhartz91



Category: Glee
Genre: Adam friendly, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dancing, Drama, Drinking, Ficlet, Flirting, Future Fic, M/M, Making Out, New York City, Romance, Sexual Content, jealous!Kurt, mentions the break up and Blaine cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1343122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/fhartz91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine are roommates, living in the loft together after Blaine graduates from high school and moves to New York. Kurt is determined that he's over Blaine, and tries to prove it by helping him get a date…or ultimately, get laid. But when Blaine succeeds in finding a guy that's actually interested in him, will Kurt realize that he wasn't as over Blaine as he thought?</p><p>***Edit - In case you're wondering, yes, I had posted this a while ago, but I came back and re-read it...and decided I hated it. So I re-wrote it. It's basically the same, only the language is way better, as are the characters. So, read it again!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chapter Where Kurt Tried to Get Blaine Laid...and Succeeded

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt - Where Kurt and Blaine go out club hopping as friends, with each other as their wingman. “I’d like them to kinda be like ‘well, we’re pretty dumb for not realizing how back together we are’ or something, and ultimately get back together. Maybe someone points out that they’re basically together again…”
> 
> Passing mention of Rachel and Santana, but they don’t live at the loft. Also, the bedrooms in the loft are actual rooms with doors.

Blaine shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans, shivering against the cold regardless of his thick peacoat and double-layered wool socks. He stole a sidelong glance at Kurt, who virtually glided down the icy sidewalk in his chocolate brown Marc Jacobs trench, a tartan scarf wrapped around his neck, looking utterly unfazed by the stinging cold.

“H-how are y-you not fr-fr-freezing?” Blaine asked in awe.

Kurt held his head high and shrugged. “Shivering is unattractive, so I simply don’t do it,” he replied. A stiff breeze blew by, and Blaine trembled uncontrollably. That, along with Kurt’s remark, made Blaine glare at him.

Kurt snickered when he noticed.

“But it’s cute when you do it,” he revised.

Blaine huffed. “You don’t have to patronize me,” he pouted, sticking out his lower lip and turning his face haughtily away.

“Oh! Poor Blaine,” Kurt cooed in a playfully patronizing tone. He nudged Blaine with his shoulder until Blaine smiled.

“Hey! Cut it out! You’re making it hard to stay mad at you!”

“That’s the idea.” Kurt aimed one final nudge at Blaine, but Blaine deftly dodged it. “Spoiled sport,” Kurt scolded. He watched Blaine laugh, his eyes twinkling with a combination of the cold and nerves. Blaine pulled the lapels of his coat closed tighter at his neck, but he no longer looked quite so frozen…or terrified. Kurt sighed. It was heartbreaking how much Blaine’s crooked smile could still melt his heart, but he tried not to let it get to him too much. They were friends, the _best_ of friends, and they were in a good place in their relationship, as evidenced by tonight’s excursion.

A trip to a local bar they frequented to try and get Blaine a date (though in some of their conversations about the goal for tonight, the word _date_ was often code for _laid_ ).

Their laughter died down, but their smiles remained. They walked along in silence, ignoring the tension building up between them.

“This isn’t going to make things awkward, right?” Blaine asked out-of-the-blue.

“Nah” - Kurt waved a dismissive hand in front of his face - “of course not. We talked about this. It’s time, Blaine. Time for you to get out of the loft and meet people.”

“I _know_ people,” Blaine argued. “I know you, and Rachel, and Santana. That’s… _three_ people…”

“ _More_  people,” Kurt emphasized. “Preferably ones _not_ from Ohio.”

They reached Club Amnesia and stopped outside the door. Kurt pulled up Blaine’s collar and flattened down his hair. Blaine’s smiling eyes shone up at him, and a lump formed in Kurt’s throat. He forced a smile, looking into Blaine’s eyes as if the anticipation in them wasn’t killing him slowly.

“There you are, Mr. Incredible,” Kurt said. “Now let’s go inside. Everyone’s going to love you.”

They walked through the door, but Kurt bypassed the dance floor and dragged Blaine straight to the bar. He ordered a beer for Blaine and a martini for himself. The second the bartender set the glass down in front of Kurt, he raised it to his lips and took a long sip. Blaine watched, a questioning eyebrow raised, a silent comment about Kurt’s sudden and immediate need for alcohol.

“What?” Kurt asked, starting on another sip. “It’s just the one.”

Blaine shook his head and drank his beer, relieved that, for whatever reason, Kurt seemed as nervous as he was. They’d only discussed _Blaine_ getting a date. That didn’t mean that Kurt was planning on going home empty handed… _if_ he went home at all. Kurt didn’t date much either, but apparently that wasn’t an issue. Kurt was more social than Blaine. He carried a heavier class load at school so he was there more often. He had an internship _and_ a part time job. He was out and about seven days of the week, and of the two of them, he was the only one still performing with a show choir (partly because the choir director, Adam, had a huge crush on Kurt, and Blaine never felt welcome).

Blaine pretty much went from the loft, to NYADA, and then home again. He lived off a trust fund so he didn’t need to work, however he did tutor kids from a neighborhood middle school music program from time to time. He guessed Kurt was right. He had moved to one of the greatest, most exciting, most culturally diverse cities on Earth…and had become a homebody.

It was time.

But moving on himself was one thing. Watching Kurt move on, too – that was another.

Blaine tried not to dwell on it. He turned around and scoped out the pickings on the dance floor. They hadn’t chosen a ‘gay’ club, per se, but there were plenty of men dancing with one other, in groups more than in pairs, and Blaine felt encouraged to join in on the fun. He finished his beer and returned the bottle to the bar.

“I think I’m going to hit the dance floor,” Blaine yelled over the music.

Kurt nodded, taking a final sip of his drink. “I think I’ll go with you.”

Kurt and Blaine made their way to the crowded floor, moving with the rhythm of the music as they fought to get to a corner where a group of men gyrated and danced in a tight cluster. A tall brunette wrapped his arm around Kurt’s waist, his hooded green eyes staring down the length of Kurt’s body as he pulled him close.

“Hey, gorgeous,” the man whispered in Kurt’s ear. “Wanna dance?”

“I think we already are,” Kurt shot back with a flirty laugh.

Blaine rolled his eyes and turned away, his face hot, but he convinced himself it was just the rise in temperature from the group of bodies moving closely together.

“Hey, short stuff,” a good-natured voice to Blaine’s left called out. Blaine turned in the direction of the voice and saw a dark-skinned man beckoning him over. He was seriously muscular, with closely cropped hair, a thin layer of black liner around his eyes, and a t-shirt so tight that it left little of his upper body to the imagination.

His startling physique momentarily stunned Blaine into silence.

“Uh…” Blaine stammered, pointing to himself. “Do you mean…”

“Yeah, you,” the man said, flashing the whitest teeth Blaine had ever seen. “It seems like your date ditched you.”

“Oh…Kurt?” Blaine glanced over his shoulder to where Kurt swayed in the arms of a nameless man. “He’s not my date. We’re just… _friends_.”

Blaine gulped down the bitterness of that word. When Blaine had started calling Kurt that, it only mildly stung, but lately it’s begun to taste like three day old rancid coffee in his mouth.

“Good.” The man reached out and took Blaine’s hand, grabbing his fingertips and pulling him close.

_Because the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets…_

Blaine remembered those words, and how conflicted Kurt was when he said them, back when sex was still a taboo subject for him. _But not anymore_ , Blaine thought, taking one last look at Kurt, grinding up against a complete stranger, before Blaine joined the man inviting him to the opposite side of the dance floor.

“My name’s DeLeon,” the man said, shaking Blaine’s hand.

“Blaine.”

“Well, _Blaine_ , are you here for business or pleasure?” DeLeon asked as he tried to get Blaine to dance.

“I...I don’t…” Blaine’s expression went blank, and DeLeon laughed.

“I’m just joking,” he said. “I’m a flight attendant. I ask people that a lot.”

“Oh, so, you don’t live in New York?” Blaine asked, distracted by checking over his shoulder for Kurt. He could barely make out the top of Kurt’s head as he bounced to the music in the arms of another man.

“No,” DeLeon replied, watching Blaine with interest. “This is just a stopover.” DeLeon took Blaine’s hands and put them on his waist, then seductively shook his hips, trying his best to get Blaine to loosen up, but Blaine simply went through the motions. He listened to DeLeon talk, smiled politely, responded to his questions with the simplest answers, but his mind was definitely elsewhere.

“Hey, honey, are you alright?” DeLeon asked. “You seem a little _preoccupied_.”

“What?” Blaine focused a little more on the man in front of him. He saw concern, and a hint of disappointment, on DeLeon’s face. He felt like a heel when he realized what an awful dance partner he’d been. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, trying harder to improve his dance game and make it up to him. “I’m sorry. It’s just…it’s been kind of a long day. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” DeLeon peeked over Blaine’s shoulder to the stylishly dressed man that Blaine kept searching out every two minutes or so. “Okay, so, here’s a question for you, Blaine – I know I invited you over here and all, but why are you dancing with me when it’s obvious you’d rather be somewhere else?”

Blaine sighed. “I don’t know…”

“Yeah, you do.”

“It’s not that I want to…”

DeLeon’s pointed look told Blaine that he could see through Blaine’s bullshit excuses already.

“I mean,” Blaine started again, subconsciously looking over his shoulder at Kurt, “we’re…”

“Let me guess,” DeLeon interrupted, “you dated, one of y’all cheated, and now you’re _best friends_. From that pining look in your eyes, I’d say _he_ cheated…”

“Actually…” Blaine stared down at his feet, which had given up on keeping any kind of beat and just shuffled back and forth, “ _I_ …cheated…”

“Oh,” DeLeon said. “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agreed. “We’re cool now, but I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me. Not really.”

“I dig that,” DeLeon said. “Well, I can see how you might feel stuck between a rock and a hard place, but it looks to _me_ like your friend has forgiven you.” They both caught sight of Kurt, waving enthusiastically and giving Blaine a thumbs up, before the man that Kurt was dancing with grabbed him around the waist and spun him. “It also looks like _he’s_ moving on. So _you_ need to make up your mind as to what you really want. Either fight for your guy…or move on, too.”

Blaine nodded again, meeting DeLeon’s understanding brown eyes.

“And here’s your chance.” DeLeon gestured over Blaine’s shoulder with his chin. Blaine saw Kurt cutting through the crowd with his new friend in tow. Blaine felt a hand on his hip. He looked down and saw DeLeon sliding a business card into his front pocket.

“If you decide to move on,” he said, “give me a call,” and walked off into the crowd just as Kurt reached them.

“Hey!” Kurt sounded giddy, his cheeks flushed from dancing. But when he saw Blaine alone, his brow furrowed. “What happened to your friend?”

“Oh…” Blaine looked in the direction DeLeon had gone. “He…left.”

“Oh,” Kurt echoed with a sympathetic frown. “Oh!” But his face quickly lit up again, and he pointed to the speaker overhead. “Listen!”

Blaine stopped his pathetic shifting side-to-side to pay attention to the song, which had changed while they were talking.

“ABBA! Dancing Queen!” Kurt said. “Remember?”

“Yeah,” Blaine said, trying to mirror Kurt’s excitement. “I remember.” How could Blaine forget? Prom. Another night when Blaine had danced with Kurt, except at Prom, Blaine could call Kurt his boyfriend. Now it just seemed like a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost.

“Don’t just stand there! Dance with us!” Kurt pulled Blaine to the center of the dance floor, oblivious to the sour face of his companion. “This is Seth, by the way.”

Blaine gave Seth a wave.

Seth didn’t wave back.

He could swear that Seth sneered at him.

Blaine looked at Kurt, who smiled at him in a way that Blaine hadn’t seen since before they had broken up, and that was all it took to get him to forget everything, including unhappy Seth, and start dancing. The music drew them together more than once, Blaine taking Kurt in his arms to twirl him or dip him, and Kurt doing the same to Blaine. It wasn’t until nearly three songs later that they realized Seth had taken off and they were dancing alone.

“Uh…” Kurt scanned the dance floor, but Blaine found him first and pointed. “What the fuck!?” Kurt exclaimed when he saw Seth talking up another man at the bar.

Blaine was upset on Kurt’s behalf…but not _too_ upset. He actually wouldn’t mind if they left and put this off for another weekend…in another month.

“I think we’re giving people the wrong idea,” Blaine said. “I think everyone thinks that we’re here _together_.” He put a particularly exaggerated amount of emphasis on the word _together_ , but it was lost in the pounding music.

Kurt seemed confused, but then nodded dramatically. “Ohhh,” he said as realization hit him. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Good,” Blaine said, glad that this was finally over with. He couldn’t wait to get back to the loft and take a hot shower. Then he and Kurt could sit on the sofa, share a bowl of popcorn, and watch the latest episode of _Cutthroat Kitchen_.

Blaine had taken a single step toward the door when Kurt said, “Let’s split up.” He patted Blaine on the back and bounded away.

Blaine sighed as he watched Kurt go. That _wasn’t_ the response he’d been hoping for.

***

“So then my _fifth_ cat got hit by a truck, and I realized that maybe a cat isn’t the best pet to have in a city like New York, so I got a parakeet, and I named him Pete…Pete the parakeet. Get it?”

Chandler giggled at his own joke while Blaine just nodded, blinking his heavy eyelids rapidly in an attempt to stay awake. Chandler seemed nice enough at first, and moderately attractive. At first blush, he had reminded Blaine of Kurt. But truth be told, Chandler was a little too thin, a little too angular, and he wore too much foundation. Chandler had cornered Blaine, drinking his second beer by one of the smaller tables lining the dance floor, and now, almost an hour later, was jabbering endlessly about his various pets, highlighting their pros and cons with regard to city living. He had gone through fish and hamsters, had moved on to cats, and apparently had come to birds. Blaine wondered how many animals Chandler might have killed since moving to New York last year, since that seemed to be how all of his stories ended.

“But then _he_ died…”

 _‘And that makes 17,’_  Blaine thought.

Blaine took a stealthy peek around the bar and spotted Kurt talking to a buff man with dirty blond hair, wearing form fitting black jeans and a violet, button down shirt tucked in. Blaine felt green watching Kurt roll his eyes fondly, laugh a little too hard, rest his hand on the man’s arm a breath too long. A lump formed in Blaine’s chest. He tried his hardest to shove it down, but it wouldn’t budge, so Blaine left it there and, instead, tried to be supportive.

 _‘Good for him,’_  he thought, trying to mean it. He _wanted_ to be happy for his ex-boyfriend, even if it meant that he himself would be miserable if the two hit it off. He imagined listening to Kurt talking on the phone to this guy and laughing at his jokes. Blaine pictured walking in on them making out on the sofa in the living room…or hearing them have sex in Kurt’s room.

Blaine’s ears began to ring, his jaw aching from how hard he had started grinding his teeth.

Kurt summoned the bartender over to order another drink. While Kurt’s back was turned, Blaine saw the man he was talking to pull something out of his pocket. When Kurt’s martini arrived, the man “accidentally” dropped something on the floor. He made to reach for it and winced. He put a hand to his back and grimaced, and Kurt offered to get _whatever_ from the floor. As Kurt bent over, the man reached for Kurt’s glass. Blaine’s eyelids narrowed, peering at the closed fist hovering over Kurt’s drink. He saw something small drop into the alcohol and sink straight to the bottom.

“My third parakeet, Jimmy---“

“One minute,” Blaine said, cutting Chandler short, not noticing the crestfallen expression on his face.

“So, NYADA…” Blaine could hear the man cooing as Kurt leaned in close, drink in hand. “I bet that’s…”

Blaine grabbed Kurt’s drink and slid it across the bar. He stepped in between the two men, glaring threateningly into the stranger’s eyes.

“What the fuck, asshole!” the man snapped. “You’re messing with my game!”

“Blaine! What are you…”

“He put something in your drink, Kurt,” Blaine said, not risking taking his eyes off the other man for a second. “I saw him.”

Kurt stepped back, mouth hanging open.

“What…are you _delusional_?” the man barked. “I would never…”

“Then drink it.” Blaine indicated the drink with a tilt of his head. The man looked at the abandoned martini sitting on the bar.

“I don’t really _like_ gin martinis,” the man said firmly.

“Do as the man says,” the bartender commanded, walking over at the sound of the commotion. “Take a sip.”

The man looked from the martini, to Kurt, to the bartender, and then to Blaine. He slammed his hand down on the bar.

“Fine,” he said, sliding off his bar stool. He shoved a twenty in the direction of the bartender. “I’m outta here.”

“I don’t think so. Marco!” the bartender called to the bouncer at the door. “Can you babysit our friend here while I call the police?”

“Surely,” the burly man said, leaving his post.

“Oh, come on!” the man complained, but the bartender put up a hand to shush him, already on his cell phone.

“Come with me,” Marco said, grabbing the man by the upper arm. The man looked like he might try to push off and run, but Marco tightened his grip, flexing his arms through his long-sleeved tee, and the man gave up without a fight.

“Whatever. Little slut isn’t worth a five dollar martini anyway,” he muttered as Marco led him away.

Kurt gasped. Blaine turned when he heard it. Kurt saw Blaine’s eyes and couldn’t stand it. Why did this have to happen? Not just that he was nearly drugged, but that it had happened in front of Blaine. Kurt hadn’t seen the danger, but Blaine had, and he ran to his rescue.

The ex-boyfriend that Kurt was trying to help find a date, the boy that Kurt was trying so hard to put behind him, had swooped in like Prince Valiant and saved him.

He dropped his head, thoroughly humiliated. Of all the stupid, bad luck…

“Hey” - Blaine put a hand on Kurt’s arm, rubbing gently - “are you okay?”

“No,” Kurt said honestly. “I was almost drugged, that Neanderthal called me a slut, and to top it off, you had to leave your…” Kurt glanced over to Blaine’s table, his forgotten companion glaring in their direction. “Wow. He does _not_ look amused.”

“It’s alright,” Blaine said, ready to blow Chandler off. “You’re safety is more important.”

Kurt shook his head. What Blaine had really said was, “ _You’re_ more important,” but Kurt couldn’t let himself hear that, because that wasn’t what Blaine was supposed to say.

It was nice to hear, but…

“You know what? I’ll be fine,” Kurt assured him. “Besides, he’s waiting for you. You don’t want to be rude.”

“Yeah, but…”

“I’ll be okay,” Kurt repeated with a weak smile. “Go. Go talk to your friend.”

Blaine didn’t want to leave Kurt, and not because he’d almost been drugged, and definitely not to go back to Chandler.

But Blaine couldn’t put pressure on Kurt. It wouldn’t be fair.

“Alright,” he said. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Kurt said. “I’ll probably pack it in soon anyway. I think I’ve had more than my fair share of excitement for one night.”

Blaine wanted to say something else. He didn’t want Kurt to walk home alone. He didn’t want Kurt to leave him with Chandler, or anyone, even if that was the original plan. But Kurt put on a brave face and shooed Blaine away. Blaine left him at the bar, and returned halfheartedly, but with a sincere smile, to the sullen man waiting for him.

“What the hell was all that about?” Chandler griped.

“I had to help out a friend,” Blaine said, shakily taking his original seat.

“I see.” Chandler tapped his foot. “He looks like _more_ than a friend, actually. Are you going home with him?”

Blaine frowned at Chandler’s scowl. “Well,” he said sluggishly, his head spinning as the adrenaline level in his body plummeted, making way for the beers he’d consumed to take over, “not right away. But we live together so…”

Before Blaine could block it, something wet slapped him in the face.

***

Blaine’s recollection of the evening from then on was fuzzy at best. He vaguely remembered having a drink tossed in his face, the sugary liquid dripping down his brow and into his eyes triggering massive déjà vu. He saw a blurry Chandler storm away, and wondered why the man seemed so offended. Blaine’s eyes began to burn as daiquiri collected in the corners. He groped around the tabletop for a napkin to clean it up with.

A comforting arm wrapped around him from behind, and a hand press a napkin into his. While he blotted the dripping liquid from his skin, lips pressed against his neck. A silky tongue collected the drops he hadn’t gotten to and licked them away.

Blaine turned in the embrace and blindly captured a pair of startled lips, not caring for the moment whose they were. He couldn’t help himself. He felt himself breaking down. The night had become too much to bear. He needed solace. He needed another human to connect with, _any_ other human. He needed someone to take care of him for a little while, to fill in the holes that had been progressively forming through the course of the evening, holes he thought he’d already sealed up tight.

Apparently, he hadn’t done too good job.

He felt himself being led to the dance floor. Lady Gaga blared out of the speakers overhead. Another body moved with his to the beat of the music, never going farther than his arms.

_I live for the applause, applause, applause,_

_I live for the applause-plause_

_Live for the applause-plause…_

Hands palmed his ass, slid down the front of his jeans to tease and caress, while those soft lips kissed him breathless. His head became fuzzy, his vision fuzzier, but he couldn’t care less. He needed this. He wanted it. Blaine left the club with _someone_ that night.

After that, he didn’t remember much else.

Blaine woke slowly, blinking open eyes that painfully adjusted to the low light of what he knew was his own bedroom by the smell of the sheets and the comforting feel of his Sobakawa pillow underneath his head. He attempted to move, but a tangle of limbs kept him locked in place.

He smiled.

He had done it. He’d gotten himself laid. It was a bittersweet victory, but it meant that he had gotten Kurt out of his system long enough to let someone else in.

This could be the start of something beautiful…if he could only remember who he was with.

_Please, don’t be Chandler. Please, God, don’t let it be Chandler. Please tell me he didn’t feel guilty about assaulting me with a daiquiri and came back to take care of me. Please, oh please, oh please, oh please…_

The only other person that Blaine could think of was the man with the sexy, come hither eyes, and the good advice who had given him his business card. Blaine had seen him walk off into the crowd, but he never actually noticed if he had left. What was his name again? Oh, God. If it _was_ him, Blaine hoped he remembered his name before he made an ass out of himself.

Blaine knew he should get up, hop in the shower, and wash the stench of _bar_ off of him, but he rejected the idea of getting out of bed in favor of turning in the arms that held him tight and coming face-to-face with the man who might help him mend the rest of those holes that were torn open last night; the ones that were made when he and Kurt (mostly _Kurt_ ) had decided _not_ to pursue a romantic relationship.

“Well,” Blaine said, sensing from the change in the man’s breathing that his mystery lover was awake, “good morning hand…some…”

Panic-stricken eyes greeted him; familiar blue eyes that he had woken up to dozens of times before.

Eyes he saw in his dreams.

Eyes he even saw in some nightmares.

Blaine stared into those eyes with no idea what to say.

“Uh…” Blaine gaped, grasping for something deep, something romantic or emotional to break the ice.

He failed spectacularly.

He considered singing, but quickly decided against it.

“Did this get awkward?” Blaine asked finally.

“Yeah…” Kurt dropped his eyes to the blanket beneath them, unable to hold Blaine’s gaze. He ran a shaky hand through his mussed hair. “It got awkward.”

 

 


	2. The Chapter Where Kurt Freaked Out and Blaine Went on a Date...in that Order

“Kurt…” Blaine started soothingly, but he had nothing to follow it up with. He had hoped that just by saying Kurt’s name, he might keep things calm, because from here, this situation could only go one of three ways:

  1. They could rationally talk thinks over, realize that last night was a mistake, and continue from here on out as friends as if it had never happened. (Not Blaine’s preferred choice, but not the worst one.)
  2. They could rationally talk things over, realize how much in love they still were, that last night was a blessing for driving that point home (so to speak), and try to work things out. They’d mark said decision with a celebratory roll in the hay, which would eventually lead to a whirlwind engagement, an epic wedding, kids, a life of adventure with his one true love, then retirement in Provincetown, buying a lighthouse, and starting that _artist colony_ they’d always talked about. (A long shot, but definitely the way Blaine hoped things would go.)
  3. They wouldn’t get past the word, “Kurt,” they wouldn’t talk anything over, Kurt would freak out, and everything would go downhill from there.



From the look in Kurt’s eyes, Blaine was certain that he was about to choose option number three.

And then, he did.

“Kurt!” Blaine exclaimed as Kurt shoved out of Blaine’s arms and bolted off the bed. “Kurt! Please! Just…”

Kurt sprinted from the room before Blaine could finish, gathering up abandoned articles of clothing along the way and shielding himself behind them, trying to hide the rapidly growing rush of humiliation that was spreading like a virus over his whole body. Kurt cringed as he bent stiffly at the knees (to avoid bending over and putting himself on display) to rescue one of his favorite McQueen sweaters from a heap on the floor. He must have been _really_ drunk, or just plain out of his mind, if he left his McQueen sweater bunched up like that.

A sudden flashback of Blaine tearing that same sweater up over Kurt’s head and throwing it carelessly to the ground while he kissed down his chest filled Kurt’s memory.

Kurt was pissed to discover what an _amazing_ memory it was.

With alcohol flowing through his body, lowering his inhibitions, every emotion he had suppressed rose to the surface. That undeniable pull Blaine seemed to have on him returned, and Kurt couldn’t fight it. He felt like a slave to it.

A _willing_ slave.

It had started when Blaine left Kurt at the bar to return to his “date”. Instead of heading home the way he had planned, Kurt called a cab. Why not? He’d been preyed upon, insulted, embarrassed, and was going to be forced, by effect of his own asinine plan, to walk home alone.

He deserved a God dammed taxi.

But while he was dialing the number, Kurt had watched a freakishly flamboyant man toss his drink in Blaine’s face. He saw Blaine’s shoulders slump, and Kurt’s heart broke for the tenth time that night. _Kurt_ had done this. He had convinced Blaine to go to the bar, and pushed him to hook up with someone. But in the end, Kurt realized with chagrin that it was to further his own agenda more than to help Blaine. Seeing Blaine in the loft every day, sometimes half-dressed and sweaty after working out, or fresh from the shower, innocently not knowing the effect it had on Kurt, was becoming torture. Hearing him sing around the loft, coming home to dinner on the table, spending their evenings on the sofa watching television together – it was too much like old times. Even with remnants of a banana daiquiri dripping down his face, Blaine was still the charming schoolboy Kurt had fallen in love with.

Incidentally, he was also the person who had shattered Kurt’s heart.

Kurt recognized that he was partly to blame for their break up, but he couldn’t think about that, or he’d be in danger of falling into bed with Blaine again.

“Kurt! I really think we should…”

“Should what?” Kurt bellowed in a wobbly voice. “What should we do, Blaine? You think we should talk about this?” Kurt’s voice echoed in his own head like a gong, but he was beyond caring about the intense throbbing in his skull, or the ringing in his ears. Instead, he spoke louder, hoping that Blaine’s head ached half as much during his high-pitched rant as Kurt’s did. “That is exactly what I  _don’t_  want to do!”

Kurt hurried to his room, his bare feet pattering across the ice cold floor making him wish he’d fallen asleep in his own bed so that he could have stayed there and slept in, hoarding his body heat until he absolutely had to come out. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do any of that because he’d slept with Blaine – the one thing he swore that under no circumstances whatsoever would he do.

Now he just wished it would go away.

Kurt stepped through his bedroom door and slammed it with unnecessary force, praying that the nausea-inducing clamor would make Blaine back off.

“Still,” Blaine persisted, putting a hand to his head and wishing the room would stop spinning, “I think talking is a…”

“Good idea?” Kurt finished, grimacing at the amount of times during this conversation that he’d finished Blaine’s sentences – the same way he used to when they were a couple. _It’s just force of habit_ , he consoled himself. _It doesn’t mean anything_. _A lot of people do it – with family, with friends. It doesn’t mean they’re made for one another or something._

Kurt emerged from his room wrapped in a white terry robe and carrying his toiletry bag. “No! That’s a terrible idea! A horrible idea! The worst idea ever in the history of all bad ideas on this planet…”

“Kurt, wait.” Blaine blocked Kurt’s path with his arms stretched out in front of him, hands poised to grab Kurt if he didn’t stop. Kurt took a good look at Blaine for the first time and noticed that he was still naked, and _God_ , he was just as gorgeous as Kurt remembered. Maybe even more so since time he didn’t spend at school or tutoring, he mostly spent working out…and it showed. Those well-defined muscles cutting paths beneath his smooth, tan skin made Kurt’s mouth water. But Blaine wasn’t his boyfriend anymore, so Kurt didn’t get the luxury of salivating. He averted his eyes and headed for the bathroom.

“Kurt…” Blaine needed Kurt to settle down long enough to talk this through with him, to see that this wasn’t the catastrophe that Kurt was making it out to be, but Kurt couldn’t seem to stop.

“People always think that talking things out is the ultimate solution, but it’s not,” Kurt said. “It’s really just dredging up old heartaches and reliving old mistakes…”

The word ‘mistakes’ stopped both men in their tracks. Shame colored Blaine’s face. _A mistake_. Kurt thought last night was a mistake. Blaine had already suspected that, what with the ranting, but Blaine thought that Kurt might mean something else by it, too. Something to do with their former relationship. Or dating Blaine in general, knowing how it would end up. But to hear Kurt say it out loud, blurt it out like that, seemed meaner than necessary.

Kurt felt a thousand apologies crowd his chest, desperately trying to find a way out, but he didn’t dare say sorry. If Blaine thought for a second that Kurt approved of them sleeping together, he might get false hope.

“I just finished getting over you,” Kurt said softly. “I finally got to a place where thinking about you didn’t make me want to crawl into a hole and die. A place where we could be friends…where we could still go ahead with our plans together without  _being_  together…” Kurt couldn’t look into Blaine’s eyes – his intoxicating, caramel-colored eyes that had most likely gone puppy-dog wide, imploring Kurt to change his mind.

But Blaine knew that Kurt had his mind made up. The firm set of Kurt’s jaw, and the way he held his head, nose slightly raised, meant that he had no intention of being swayed. His decision was final.

Any argument Blaine brought up after this would only tarnish the friendship they had built. Blaine didn’t want to take a chance that Kurt would cut him out of his life completely.

“Okay,” Blaine said, backing down. “Okay. I understand.”

Kurt heard the defeat in Blaine’s voice and a piece of him tore away, but he couldn’t backpedal. It was what was best for both of them. Kurt hurried into the bathroom and shut the door, immediately turning on the shower before he even got in so Blaine wouldn’t hear him cry.

Blaine dragged himself back to his room and shut the door. He had to put things back in order and forget about his night with Kurt. He picked up his clothes, shook out the wrinkles, and hung them up in his closet. A white business card fell from the pocket of his jeans and fluttered to the floor. Blaine bent down to pick it up, finally remembering the name of the gentleman he thought he might have woken up to.

DeLeon - the man with the incredible body and the infectious smile. The one who had invited Blaine out if he ever made up his mind.

When he decided to move on.

With Kurt locked in the bathroom, mourning their recent night together, now seemed like that time.

Blaine grabbed his cell phone off his nightstand and dialed the number, sitting down as he did or else he might fall down. It was too early in the morning for this angst with Kurt, especially while Blaine was hung over. His heart raced as he listened to the phone ring, and for a second, Blaine questioned if this was a good idea.

“Mmm…hello?” a sleepy voice answered.

“Hello? DeLeon?” Blaine hoped he wasn’t making a fool out of himself by calling this man at… _shoot_! Blaine had no clue what time it was. He’d woken up after very little sleep to a tremendously dry mouth and a severe headache, but the arms wrapped around him were so worth it at the time. Blaine scanned his dresser for his clock and saw that it was _seven twenty-five in the morning? What the fuck, Blaine??_ Jesus fucking Christ! He woke this poor man up, and not at a reasonable hour, either. What are the odds this guy even remembered who Blaine was? Blaine had had a difficult time remembering _him_. He had probably gone home with another guy and forgotten all about Blaine. Man, he was screwing up all over the place. “My name’s Blaine,” he continued because what did he really have to lose. “I don’t know if you remember me. We met at Club Amnesia last night…”

 _Ironic_ , Blaine thought.

“I remember you,” DeLeon said after a yawn. Blaine detected a smile in the man’s velvety voice, along with a hint of an accent that Blaine hadn’t noticed over the ear-splitting music of the club. “How may I help you, Blaine?”

“I was just wondering…uh…would you still like to go out…with me?”

“Hmmm,” DeLeon murmured. “Sounds interesting. What did you have in mind?”

Blaine stood and started pacing while he spoke, too anxious to stay seated despite the overwhelming threat of puking ever present.

“I was thinking I could take you out to dinner. Tonight, if possible.” Blaine kept an ear peeled for the sound of the shower water. He didn’t want to risk Kurt walking in and taking him by surprise in the middle of asking another guy out on a date.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” DeLeon said. Then, after a beat, “Just you and me, right?”

Blaine laughed in spite of himself considering everything that had happened a few minutes ago. He figured his days of barhopping with Kurt had come to an end. They probably wouldn’t be doing anything _together_ for a long time.

“Yes, of course,” Blaine said. “Just you and me.”

DeLeon chuckled. “Great. It’s a date then. But why don’t you come to my place and let me make you something. I eat at too many restaurants. It would be nice to eat in. Is that alright?”

Blaine’s heart skipped for a few seconds before he realized he hadn’t answered. “Yes. Yes, that’s fine.”

Another amused chuckle. “I’m at the Marriott downtown. Room 1218. I’ll see you at 8.”

“Eight is great,” Blaine said, groaning internally at his unintended rhyme.

“Then I’ll see you, and  _just_  you, at eight o’clock.”

“Sh-should I bring anything?” Blaine asked, hating that he stuttered when he got nervous.

The funny thing was, he never stuttered around Kurt. He was usually the surest version of himself when he was with Kurt.

And he liked the way that felt.

“Mmmm, maybe some wine? I only have the shit they stock in the mini bar. Try to find something good, hmm?”

“I will,” Blaine promised, even though he knew very little about buying wine. _Kurt_ always bought the wine they drank with dinner (thanks, in part, to Blaine’s brother Cooper replacing those horrible fake IDs that Sebastian Smythe gave them). He seemed to have a sixth sense about which wine paired well with whatever meal before he even opened the bottle. But Blaine wasn’t about to ask Kurt for advice on what wine he should bring with him tonight, no matter how much he seemed in favor of Blaine dating.

“Goodbye, Blaine.”

“Bye.” Blaine ended the call and tossed his phone on the bed, cursing himself out in his head.

Blaine had a date.

A date with someone who _wasn’t_ Kurt.

A date with someone who _wasn’t_ Kurt in a hotel room downtown.

And now he had to go out and buy some wine.

 _Great_.

***

“To tell you the truth, I’m really surprised you called, Blaine.” DeLeon smiled, handing Blaine a glass of the cabernet he had brought. Blaine had to resort to asking the associate at BevMo for help picking out a good all-around wine since he had neglected to ask DeLeon what he was making for dinner, and thought that calling back to check would seem tacky. Also, Blaine might be tempted to cancel if he called back, so his only hope of not picking out something that completely sucked lay in the hands of Carl, the BevMo guy. It wasn’t the same as wine shopping with Kurt. Kurt had a bizarre, adorable ritual for buying wine. He’d read every word written on the label, front and back. He’d hold the bottle up to the light to check the color, give it a little shake to see what had settled on the bottom. Then he’d bring it up to his ear and listen to it. Blaine was pretty certain Kurt just did that as a way to make fun of him, though, for his wine picking ignorance.  “Did you get things sorted out with your ex?”

Blaine took the glass and smiled back, hoping that he looked suave instead of sick to his stomach. “Yeah, we sort of did,” Blaine replied, taking a quick sip of the wine so he wouldn’t slip and spill the whole sordid story of how they had gotten drunk, had sex, and then Kurt flipped his shit.

DeLeon raised a skeptical eyebrow at Blaine’s response, but decided to let it go. Calling him out wouldn’t be the best way to get the night started, and besides, he didn’t invite the man over to talk about his ex.

Blaine’s gaze left DeLeon’s suspicious expression, and he scanned the room from behind the rim of his glass.

“This is a fantastic suite,” Blaine said, indicating the space. “I didn’t know flight attendants made this much money.”

“Most don’t,” DeLeon explained, leading Blaine to the dinner table. It was already set minus plates, but otherwise to the nines – gold linen tablecloth and complimenting burgundy napkins, a gold charger for the dinner plates to sit on, gleaming gold flatware, wine glasses, candlelight, flowers…DeLeon had gone all out.

Exactly the way Kurt would have.

“I work for an independent airline,” DeLeon continued, making Blaine realize that he might have missed a bit of the conversation. He’d have to stop thinking about Kurt if this night was going to be anything other than a disaster. Maybe Blaine deserved to stew in his guilt, but DeLeon didn’t deserve to have his night ruined, not when he had gone to so much trouble. “Mainly international flights, very exclusive - celebrities, millionaires, private parties, that sort of thing.”

“I see,” Blaine said. “That sounds fascinating.”

DeLeon rushed a step ahead to pull out Blaine’s chair for him, and Blaine said a quiet, “Thank you,” as he settled into it. He watched DeLeon walk into the kitchen, returning moments later holding two plates. He had this way of carrying himself that mesmerized Blaine. He wondered if it was a side effect of working as a flight attendant – his back rod straight, his shoulders squared, his head held high. He walked with exquisite balance and grace; the way he maneuvered Blaine’s plate to set it down on the charger reminiscent of ballet.

Kind of the way…

“I hope you don’t mind pasta,” DeLeon said. He went to his side of the table and sat down. “I know it might seem like cheating, not bringing out my most complicated dish on a first date to impress you, but the last layover I had was in Morocco, and I kind of miss having a hardy plate of Fettucine Alfredo.”

“Not at all,” Blaine said. “Fettucine Alfredo happens to be one of my favorites.”

DeLeon saw Blaine waiting for him to eat before he tucked into his meal. It was so sweet, so old-fashioned. It almost made him blush.

“Well, dig in,” he said, waving his fork. “I don’t stand on ceremony here.”

Blaine carefully twirled a bit of fettucine on to his fork and popped it into his mouth. DeLeon stopped loading up his fork, pausing to watch Blaine’s mouth work. Blaine moaned the moment the sauce hit his tongue. DeLeon hadn’t just made Fettucine Alfredo; he’d made the sauce, _and_ the noodles, from scratch. But there was something else in there, something slightly unfamiliar underneath. A savory flavor – a mild sensation of heat, and something exotic that Blaine couldn’t quite place. He personally would have never thought to put it together that way, but, “Oh my God!” he exclaimed. “This is incredible!”

“Thank you.” DeLeon twirled his fork in his pasta. “I picked up the recipe during a layover in Sicily, but I added a few touches of my own. I’m always on the lookout for new flavors to _tempt_ my palate. Keeps life from getting dull. ”

Blaine shook his head in awe, not picking up on DeLeon’s subtle cues.

“It must be unreal,” he remarked, winding more noodles around the tines of his fork. “Traveling the world, seeing new things, learning about different cultures first hand. And the _food_. It sounds like a non-stop vacation.”

“It is.” DeLeon took a bite of his pasta and chewed. Then he took a sip of wine, putting Blaine’s comment off until he felt fully prepared to answer. “At least, at first. It takes time to get into the swing of things – departures, hotel arrangements, constantly being a strange face in a strange land. It can get stressful. It can be intimidating. For the first year, you barely enjoy it, and you start to wonder why they hell you wanted to do it to begin with. But after a while, when the excitement dies down and you find your groove, things sort of bleed together – airports, cities, people, _food_.”

DeLeon put a teasing emphasis on that word since food seemed to be a passion of Blaine’s, if the way he was enthusiastically, albeit genteelly, devouring his meal gave any indication.

Blaine, mouth full, snorted at DeLeon’s joke.

DeLeon found it endearing.

“After you’ve done all the touristy stuff, gone to all the places only the locals know about, then done it all again, everything just sort of feels the same…and it gets a little lonely.”

Blaine swallowed down his mouthful of noodles hard when the tone of DeLeon’s voice changed from conversational to solemn.

“A lot of the guys and gals I work with, they have homes and families, people who miss them and text them lovely messages while they’re away. They have places to go over the holidays…”

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said. Blaine never would have guessed that DeLeon was lonely. The few times Blaine had spoken to him, he seemed so upbeat. Blaine guessed that traveling as often as DeLeon did was a lifestyle he would have to be committed too, but Blaine figured he was where he wanted to be, doing _what_ he wanted.

But Blaine could see how spending your life catering to people’s needs when you don’t have a special someone of your own could amplify your own loneliness.

DeLeon sighed. “Don’t mind me,” he said in a chipper tone. “It’s just been a while, that’s all. In fact, this is the first date I’ve been on since...I can’t even tell you when.”

Blaine’s eyes flicked up to meet DeLeon’s, but the man’s gaze had drifted to his plate, his mind sifting through thoughts he didn’t feel the need to divulge. They had stumbled into an unforeseen silence. Blaine felt that he might have unintentionally set the tone with the way his thoughts constantly strayed to Kurt. But DeLeon was too nice a guy to be stuck in the doldrums, so Blaine filled the silence with anecdotes and stories about high school and his time in New York. He was initially worried that he wouldn’t have much to say since he censored any mention of Kurt, and Kurt had been a big part of his world for so long. But soon DeLeon was laughing so much he could barely eat and sharing stories of his own – the first flight he ever went on as a flight attendant, a fifteen hour trip from Los Angeles to Hong Kong, when he became extremely nauseous and vomited in the silver ice bucket they used to chill the champagne in; the time he wanted to become a trapeze artist even though he’s deathly afraid of heights (despite spending the majority of his adult life in an airplane); or the time when he first tried to learn to cook and set the kitchen of a world famous restaurant on fire.

Two hours later, the laughter petered off, the bottle of wine was mostly gone, and the dregs of the pasta were ice cold.

“Why don’t we move into the living room and watch some TV?” DeLeon suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Blaine said, wiping his mouth on his napkin and getting up from his seat.

Blaine followed DeLeon into the living room and sat beside him on the leather couch. DeLeon picked up a remote from the coffee table and switched on the flat screen.

“I’ve spent the last three months in and out of the air,” DeLeon said, switching to the guide screen. “Has anything interesting come out since then?”

“They don’t do inflight movies on your airline?” Blaine joked.

“Not usually,” DeLeon said. “Although, flying with Gwyneth Paltrow’s daughter Apple over the Atlantic I got to watch _Frozen_ about seventeen times.”

“Lucky you,” Blaine said with a snicker. “Darn, well, I guess that’s out then.”

“I guess.” DeLeon bumped Blaine’s shoulder.

Blaine caught his breath.

“Alright, well, there’s a few things out now – Orange is the New Black, House of Cards, Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones. I guess it depends on what you’re into.” Blaine reached for the remote, fingertips brushing lightly over DeLeon’s skin as he took it from him. DeLeon licked his lips when Blaine slid the remote out of his hand, Blaine’s palm gliding over the backs of DeLeon’s fingers sending tingles up the man’s spine.

“Pretend it’s a typical evening at home for you,” DeLeon said, subconsciously covering his hand to hold on to that feeling. “What would you watch?”

“Well…” Blaine flipped to the guide for the cable stations “We…uh…” Blaine stopped scrolling through the channels, eyes glued to the screen, pretending to read over the selections. It was such an easy slip. He spent most of his evenings watching television with Kurt. There wasn’t a single show programmed into their DVR recording schedule that they hadn’t chosen together. But he wasn’t part of a _we_ anymore. Not really. He cleared his throat and backed out of the primetime menu, switching to movies instead. “You know, I think I know something you might like.”

“As long as it has nothing to do with planes or airlines, I’m sure I’ll love it.” DeLeon knew what was going on, but he didn’t say anything. He watched Blaine fix the smile back on his face and choose a movie from the pulldown menu. It wasn’t as bright a smile as before, it didn’t exactly touch his eyes, but it did the job. Blaine was good at that apparently – masking his feelings. DeLeon understood the technique. He wasn’t a performer like Blaine, but being a flight attendant, responsible for making people feel comfortable in an uncomfortable space for a prolonged period of time, left no room for him to dwell over personal problems. He had to leave them on the tarmac and forget about them since he rarely went back to the same place to pick them up again.

Eventually, he stopped getting serious over anyone. He mostly hung out with other people like him – flight attendants, traveling businessmen. People unlikely to get attached since they always had somewhere else they needed to be, and with someone more important.

Blaine was different from his other “layover stands” as DeLeon called them. He was a little more sheltered, a little less experienced, and one hundred percent from his curly hair to the soles of his boat shoes a hopeless romantic. Blaine may have cheated on his ex, but he wasn’t looking for a one night stand. DeLeon could tell. Blaine wanted the whole package – an honest-to-God courtship with the promise of something more in the future.

It had been a long while since DeLeon had one of those – someone to woo who might want to devote a considerable amount of time to him.

Plus, Blaine was _beautiful_.

DeLeon’s breath hitched in his throat watching the dapper young man on his couch move – the way he chewed his lower lip while he read the screen, or the tiny sound of triumph he made when he figured out how the satellite remote worked. His face was so expressive. He must have cycled through a dozen different expressions choosing a movie alone.

How could he feel so many different emotions one after the other like that without getting thoroughly exhausted? On any given day, smiling for longer than five hours got on DeLeon’s patience.

“Alright,” Blaine said, returning the remote to the coffee table. “Here we go. Get ready to be amazed.”

“Oh,” DeLeon said, “I will.”

Blaine settled against the arm of the couch, and DeLeon slid down the cushion to sit closer beside him. Blaine put an arm around him, and they melded together - not perfect, but close enough.

Over the course of the movie, Blaine’s arm around DeLeon’s shoulder was matched with DeLeon’s hand on Blaine’s knee…and then a few innocent kisses on the cheek, followed by one on the neck, a hand up his shirt, then a kiss on the mouth that became longer and more heated, until, by the time the credits rolled, DeLeon sat straddling Blaine’s lap, sucking a mark below his jaw, while Blaine’s hands clawed lightly over his back.

“So,” DeLeon whispered against Blaine’s skin, “do you _really_ need to go home tonight?”

Blaine bit his lip. He didn’t know how to answer, so he didn’t. Not right away. He kissed DeLeon again while he stalled. In all respects, DeLeon was a great guy, a _terrific_ guy – handsome, intelligent, witty…but he wasn’t Kurt. Where DeLeon’s muscles bulged in his arms and legs, Kurt was lithe and lean. DeLeon’s cologne smelled spicy, and a little overpowering, but Kurt always smelled understatedly floral, like the scent of jasmine floating on a spring breeze. Watching DeLeon’s dark skin shift as he moved to loop his arms around Blaine’s neck, Blaine couldn’t help but think of the contrast to Kurt’s alabaster skin, sprinkled with light freckles that grew darker when he became aroused.

Blaine loved licking over those freckles, watching them darken underneath his tongue, especially the ones on his hips and inner thighs…

Blaine focused hard on kissing DeLeon, trying to will his thoughts of Kurt away.

It would have been easier to carve out his frontal lobe.

Regardless, he had to give this a shot. He had to move on. It was what Kurt wanted. Blaine wanted it, too.

“I…I guess I don’t…” Blaine said when he came up for air.

DeLeon smiled. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that…” He undid the buckle to Blaine’s belt and pulled it away. “Because I’ve been thinking of you…” He slowly unzipped Blaine’s jeans “…ever since you called…” Blaine closed his eyes when DeLeon’s lips connected with his neck again. He felt DeLeon travel down his body, lips grazing his shirt as he went, and wondered if he would ever be able to look Kurt in the eyes again.

***

It was after six in the morning when Blaine made it back to the loft. He prayed that Kurt had decided to sleep in. He usually didn’t wake up for yoga until around 6:15, so maybe Blaine would just make it, sneak into his room, and hide out like he’d gotten in at a reasonable hour and been home for most of the morning.

He only hoped that Kurt wouldn’t be too interested in knowing how his night had gone. He didn’t seem too thrilled when Blaine left, but Blaine didn’t know if that was because he had a date, or because of what had happened between them the night before.

He pulled the door open slowly in an attempt to avoid the creaking of the rollers on the track, but they seemed to squeak louder since he was making the extra effort to keep them quiet. The door shuddered noisily, and Blaine bargained in his head. “Please, don’t wake him up. Please, omnipotent beings of the universe. Please oh please delay any and all executions until after I get a few hours of sleep.”

But Blaine knew the second he had the door opened that he would have no such luck.

He saw Kurt sitting on the couch, wrapped loosely in the throw off his bed, blood-shot eyes trained on the door. One look told Blaine that Kurt hadn’t slept all night.

“Uh, hey,” Blaine started awkwardly. “Why are you…why didn’t you…?”

“So, did you do it?” Kurt slurred. He tossed off the throw and stood from his seat on the couch, a bottle clutched in his fist. He swayed slightly as he tried to make his way towards Blaine. “Did you sleep with your _little friend_?”

Blaine’s jaw dropped. “I…”

Kurt wasn’t listening. He tsk-tsked over Blaine as he examined him, walking around his body and peering at him in a way that unnerved Blaine. Kurt’s eyes fixed on Blaine’s neck and went wide.

“Oh ho ho!” he crowed, pointing at Blaine’s neck. “Lookey, lookey! Blaine’s got a hickey!”

Blaine didn’t know what to make of Kurt’s reaction. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, red lines webbed over the whites of his eyes as if he had spent the night crying. He reeked of tequila from the half-empty bottle clutched in his grasp. Blaine was confused. He didn’t understand why going out on a date would hurt Kurt’s feelings. They had talked about it at length. They had _both_ decided.

Wasn’t that what Kurt wanted?

“So, tell me, Blaine,” Kurt chuckled. “I mean, you might as well fess up. The truth’s written all over your face. Did Little Blainers do the deed? Did’ya seal the deal?”

Kurt hiccupped over his words, and what could have been tears lumped in his throat. Blaine watched Kurt continue to devolve and knew he had to end it. He hated seeing Kurt in pain. He couldn’t help picturing Kurt in the park over a year ago, right after Blaine had told him that he’d been with someone else.

He superimposed that image over this one. He couldn’t decide which one was worse.

“Yeah,” Blaine answered quietly. “Yeah, I did.”

Kurt’s sloppy smile slipped. His lips quivered. He wasn’t prepared for that. He thought he’d hear that they’d had a heated make-out session; that maybe, _maybe_ , one of them had given the other a blowjob (for which Kurt was already planning on buying another bottle of tequila). But Kurt didn’t actually think they’d have sex together. Not on the first date. That wasn’t like Blaine.

 _Wait_ , Kurt reminded himself with a jeer inside his own head. _Yeah, it kinda was_.

Kurt felt tears prick behind his eyes, but he recovered quickly, smiling again, this time too brightly.

“Great!” He clapped Blaine on the back. “That’s just…that is _so_ great! Good for you, tiger!”

Blaine flinched. Sebastian used to call Blaine _tiger_ when he flirted with him back in high school, trying to split Blaine and Kurt apart. As far as Blaine knew, Kurt _loathed_ that nickname. Hearing him use it, with the amount of venom he put behind it, felt like a slap in the face.

“Good…good for you, Blaine. Good for you…” Kurt muttered under his breath, turning his head away. He spun in a lopsided, tilt-a-whirl circle, and headed for his room, dropping the bottle of tequila along the way. He tripped over the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Blaine to stare at the closed door and wonder what exactly had happened with Kurt while he was gone.

 


	3. The Chapter Where We Find Out What the Hell Happened to Kurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the new third chapter before the final chapter, where we discover what Kurt was doing while Blaine was out on his date, which should shine a brighter light on why he reacted the way he did when Blaine got home.

Kurt took longer than he had planned in the shower. He wasn’t lollygagging. He needed the time alone to recover and think. But they paid for water, so Kurt had to do something else to justify the extra time. There was only so much one could do in the shower (after taking masturbating out of the equation), so he put extra care into cleaning and deep conditioning his hair, loofah-ed every rough patch on the soles of his feet, massaged his charcoal mud mask into his face, and then rinsed till his skin squeaked. He showered until the water ran cold, then did a complete second rinse to tighten his pores and get his heart pumping. If Blaine asked, Kurt could claim he was doing an extra bit of pampering since the bar atmosphere, the drinks he’d had, the sweat from dancing (and from sex), and then sleeping on filthy sheets, had wreaked havoc on his skin.

But the truth was he wasn’t ready to face Blaine.

Kurt spent over an hour underneath the spray until he was finally okay. And he knew he was okay because he told himself so, multiple times.

“I can do this,” he said, turning off the water and reaching for his towel. “I can totally do this,” he repeated, patting his wrinkled skin dry. “This is a new day,” he continued, dotting on his face moisturizer, followed by his body moisturizer. “No reason for what happened last night to destroy anything. We’ll move on from here. Continue like it never happened. Things don’t have to get awkward between me and Blaine just because we slept with one another. We’ve slept with each other _dozens_ of times. This isn’t anything new. In fact, this will make things _better_. There’s been sexual tension in this loft up the wazoo for _months_. We’ve gotten it out of our systems, and now we can move forward. That’s it. Just … move forward. Just keep swimming … _just keep swimming, just keep swimming …_ ” When his personal pep talk devolved into a Disney show tune, he knew it was time to face the music.

Kurt took a breath, wrapped his robe tight around him, and left the bathroom. Whatever he found outside that door, he’d deal with it like a mature adult.

But when he stepped outside, Blaine wasn’t there. The loft was not only quiet, it seemed empty - no sign of life aside from himself. It was Saturday, so Kurt couldn’t think of anything that Blaine _had_ to do. He could have gone down to the gym, decided to shower there since Kurt was taking forever, and blow off some steam in the process. Or maybe he didn’t leave. Maybe he went back to bed to pass out for a few hours. Just thinking of bed made Kurt yawn. Apparently, after everything that had happened, a one-hour shower wasn’t enough to wake him up sufficiently. Sleep sounded like an excellent idea. He’d go to bed, get a few hours of unconsciousness under his belt, and when he woke up, it would be like starting a brand new day.

Kurt went to his room, took off his robe, and, without putting on his pajamas, climbed under his covers. He melted into his mattress, the clean, cool sheets soothing against his freshly washed skin. He was determined to put last night behind him, go on as if it had never happened, even if he could still feel Blaine’s hands on his body, his mouth on his chest, his fingers opening him up, touching him deep inside. And not only in a physical sense. They had come back to where it all began, been one in a way that Kurt didn’t think they had since that first time they made love in Blaine’s bedroom back in Lima.

The more he tried to push those memories aside and surrender to unconsciousness, the more they wanted to settle beneath his skin. The horrible part was they felt comfortable there. They felt right. They _fit_ there, and in a way, they made him whole. Not because Kurt needed a man to complete him. He’d railed against that kind of thinking his entire life. He might _want_ someone, but that didn’t necessarily mean he _needed_ someone. Blaine, in a way, was a perfect fit in that respect. He didn’t try to glue all of Kurt’s pieces back together, but the mess made more sense when he was around, and that was something Kurt had always felt a perfect partner was. Not someone who wanted to fix you, but someone whose presence made order out of the chaos. Blaine had been such an enormous part of Kurt’s life, and not because he was Kurt’s first real boyfriend, or because Kurt had lost his virginity to him. Blaine filled a gap that had been carved out by other people’s bullying and Kurt’s own occasional self-hate. He was the hand Kurt could hold when times got tough, the shoulder he could lean on when he deserved a good cry, the arms that would envelope him when he needed a little extra strength.

Kurt could make it on his own. He knew he could. He’d always known. But for the time that they had been together and loved one another, Blaine made things easier. Better. Even now, when Kurt had consigned the two of them to a future as simply _friends_ , Blaine was one of the best things he had going in his life. He was the smiling face that greeted Kurt every morning and every evening; he was the person Kurt confided in first above everyone else, even his dad; he was Kurt’s “date” to every movie and every musical he wanted to see, every restaurant he wanted to try. They lived their lives like a fabulous old married couple.

Could they actually end up being one?

Could Kurt be okay with giving Blaine a second chance?

Because if Kurt was really honest with himself, as much as he wanted to move on, he couldn’t see a life without Blaine in it in some capacity.

He was afraid that he was beginning to take Blaine for granted without giving much of anything back.

Did Blaine even _want_ to be there, living in the loft with him? Or was he trapped there by guilt, determined to spend a lifetime making amends for what he did?

If Kurt could make Blaine believe that he _truly_ forgave him, would Blaine consider his debt paid and move out?

After last night, Kurt would say that Blaine wanted to be with him – honestly and undoubtedly wanted to be in a relationship with him.

Could they start over fresh?

Was that what Kurt wanted to see happen in the end? The two of them back together?

So many times he had looked at Blaine and said to himself _cheater_ , _unforgivable_ , _non-negotiable_ , _end of story_. And yet he had dreams of them ending up together, of the wedding he had planned, their honeymoon, the songs they hadn’t gotten the chance to sing, the vacations they never took … the children they said they’d adopt. He thought that maybe he held on to those things so tightly because of the effort he had put into the planning until one day he had a dream out of nowhere of the two of them eloping in a barn, of all places. And it didn’t matter that they were out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by over a century’s worth of mildew and the stale smell of horses, with no one but their high school friends and family around them to witness. They were together. They were husbands. It wasn’t about getting to the altar; it was about getting there with _Blaine_. They had moved on in their lives, but they had moved on together.

Because Kurt loved Blaine.

And it scared the living daylights out of him.

It was also the reason things never worked out between Kurt and Adam. Kurt had wanted them to work. Adam was a great guy – sweet, funny, and supportive. But he wasn’t Blaine. And as much as Kurt wanted to be over Blaine, he didn’t want to hurt anyone else during that process.

He didn’t want to use Adam as a stepping stone, especially if he couldn’t commit to the man with his whole heart. It wouldn’t be right. Adam didn’t deserve that.

Maybe this was where it was all leading after all. Maybe the task wasn’t to find a way to live apart. Maybe it was trying to find a way to meld back together, pick up where they left off before the cheating, before the miscommunications, before the heartbreak.

Kurt thought about it and thought about it, knowing that he’d get no rest until he came up with a solution, because it would nag at him, sit in the forefront of his brain and poke at him until he came to a conclusion. Eventually, after sifting through his options and struggling with the pros and cons, one thing became infinitely clear.

He loved Blaine. He wanted to spend his life with Blaine. And he wanted that life to start right away.

Kurt began to get excited. He wanted to race out of bed and tell Blaine that instant, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to blurt it out, not after the fit he threw this morning. (Wait? Was it still morning? Kurt had no clue …) Doing it that way seemed like emotional manipulation, no matter how genuine his intentions were. No, he had to ease into it, make sure that he and Blaine were on the same page, make Blaine see that things could be the way he had originally wanted them.

Make him see that Kurt wanted them that way, too.

Yes. That was the solution his brain was searching for. He felt calmer now, more relaxed, and as he tried to outline the steps he would take to win Blaine back – first his head, then his heart – he drifted off to sleep.

***

Kurt woke to the sound of footsteps outside his door, not in strides, but creaking in odd spots, as if someone was sneaking past, trying not to disturb him. _Blaine_. Blaine was home, or out of his room. This was it, Kurt thought. This was his chance.

Even though Kurt felt like he could sleep for about a week, his eyes popped open. He climbed out of bed and got dressed, not really paying attention to what clothes he put on as long as he was covered enough to be seen in public. He went over the ideas he had come up with before he fell asleep, trying to figure out the best way to start. He’d decided that he shouldn’t make it into too big a deal. One of the biggest problems they had in their relationship was that everything became so drama filled, every issue so life and death. Kurt could make them a casual dinner and they could hash things out at the dinner table, or they could talk it out over a bowl of popcorn and an episode of _Modern Family_. He decided he’d see what kind of mood Blaine was in when he saw him. He’d know by the expression on his face when Blaine looked at him which way to lean.

But when Kurt finally came out, mildly styled (because he couldn’t stand what he looked like when he passed by the mirror and saw his epic bed hair), and dressed, he caught Blaine coming out of his own bedroom. He had changed, too, and Kurt was right. He’d gone down to the gym and showered. His hair was mildly damp from it, a few loose curls hanging over his brow, begging for Kurt to brush them away and leave a kiss in their place.

But Kurt couldn’t help noticing that Blaine was dressed _nice_.

Dressed to go out, he realized, and his stomach turned to lead.

“Oh. Kurt,” Blaine said, doing up the buttons to his coat. “I didn’t know you were still here.”

That didn’t sound entirely honest, but okay. Maybe what Blaine was saying was that he didn’t expect to see Kurt before he left.

“Well, I am,” Kurt said, flashing what he hoped was an inviting smile. “I fell asleep in the shower and almost washed myself straight down the drain, so I thought I should, you know, maybe get some sleep.” Kurt laughed a little too hard. Blaine smiled, albeit uncomfortably. “Wh-where are you heading off to?”

“Oh …” Blaine looked surprised that Kurt wanted to know. Or maybe he was surprised that Kurt was talking to him after everything that happened. “I just … I need to go buy something.” Blaine nodded like that explained everything, but Kurt stared at him blankly, waiting for more. “For tonight.”

“Oh, really?” Kurt’s voice held the tiniest hint of excitement. Maybe he hadn’t pushed Blaine completely away. Maybe they _were_ on the same page. Maybe they could talk this out, come to a consensus, start over again but go slow this time. Maybe they could learn each other anew. They could leave the angst and the hurt behind them and begin fresh, become Kurt and Blaine version 2.0. The more Kurt thought about that possibility, the more he wanted it. “What’s going on tonight?”

“I have … well, I kind of have a … you know … a … sort of … date.”

Kurt stared blankly. He didn’t quite understand what Blaine was saying. Was Blaine asking him out on a date? Because they always called going out a _date_ , but that wasn’t how this sounded. When Kurt _did_ understand it, he couldn’t believe it. How could Blaine have a date? They’d just slept together … Kurt had no idea how many hours before. He wasn’t that savvy as to what time it was. But in that moment, Kurt felt his hope shatter, the last few hours of negotiating, soul searching, and planning on his part rapidly circling the drain.

“A … a date?” Kurt did everything in his power to keep the words from cracking. He raised his eyebrows, trying to think of who Blaine would have met from the time Kurt hopped into the shower until now. “W-with that guy from the bar? The one who threw the drink in your face?”

“No,” Blaine said, shy smile fighting to merge into a more serious expression. “No, the … the guy I was dancing with. Do you remember him?”

“Yeah.” Kurt had only caught a glimpse of the man while he was dancing, but he could picture him clearly – his luminous skin; his bright, white teeth; his huge biceps; his six pack showing through his clingy shirt. “A date?” Kurt sniffed (bitchier than necessary he’d admit to himself later). “Well, we both know what _that_ means, don’t we?”

Blaine looked flabbergasted and hurt by Kurt’s insinuation. “It … it doesn’t have to mean that,” he countered. “It’s only a first date. Who knows if we’re even compatible … that way.”

Kurt shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if it means that or not. It’s an option.” He sat on the sofa. He reached for a magazine off the coffee table and turned to a random page. He wasn’t trying to act aloof.

He needed something to hold on to.

He needed something to hold him together.

“I … I don’t have to go,” Blaine said softly. “I could cancel.”

Kurt didn’t know if Blaine meant it, that he’d rather hang around with a bitchy Kurt as opposed to an attractive man whom he might have a connection with, or if he was offering out of guilt. Either way, Kurt couldn’t let him give up his date.

Bitterness and disappointment had him acting like a jerk, but he couldn’t be _that_ level of jerk.

“We agreed this was a good thing,” Kurt continued, though _when_ they had agreed on it, Kurt was failing to remember. “Besides, it would be rude to cancel this late anyway. You should totally go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Really sure?”

“Really, really sure, Blaine.”

“Alright,” Blaine said, finishing up his coat. “Only if you’re sure.”

“Of course, I’m sure.” (Kurt wasn’t sure) “I’m more than sure. Go. Have fun. But be safe.” Kurt smiled without looking up.

“Alright.” Blaine walked backward toward the door, keeping an eye on Kurt in case he changed his mind. “Goodbye, Kurt.”

“Goodbye, Blaine.” Kurt mindlessly flipped through pages, acting like he was searching for something while he listened to the loft door open, pause, and then slide shut.

Then, Blaine was gone.

And everything started to suck all over again.

The second Kurt heard Blaine’s footsteps fade down the stairs, he got up off the couch and went to the kitchen to make himself dinner, figuring he’d just call it an early night. There was chicken kiev left over from a few nights ago, eggplant lasagna, fettuccine alfredo, all dishes he had chosen with Blaine, prepared with Blaine, and eaten with Blaine. There was nothing in the refrigerator that he didn’t either make with Blaine, buy with Blaine, or buy for Blaine.

He bypassed the fridge entirely and headed straight for the cabinet above, and his long forgotten bottle of tequila.

For the first time in his life, Kurt was going to drink his dinner.

He circled back to the couch, plopped on down, and cracked open his bottle. He figured he’d take a few sips, get a buzz going, and when he felt sedate enough to return to unconsciousness, he’d pour himself back into bed. With any luck, he’d sleep straight through Blaine coming home. Whatever happened on his date, Kurt wouldn’t have the wherewithal to deal with it until morning.

So what if Kurt spent most of his Saturday unconscious? He was an overachiever most of the time. He deserved one throwaway day.

A sip of tequila turned into two sips. Two sips turned into four. Four sips turned into … a whole lot of tequila … but amazingly, none of it was making him sleepy. That was because he kept sabotaging himself. He was trying so hard not to think about Blaine on his date that all he did was think about Blaine on his date. He tried to distract himself with television, but channel after channel torpedoed him with sentimental, romantic movies – _The Notebook, Moulin Rouge, Sleepless in Seattle, Love Actually_. He almost settled for _Titanic_ , thinking he could find the humor in watching Jack Dawson drown to death, but the second “My Heart Will Go On” began playing, he dissolved into tears. He finally gave up on television and went back to his magazine, but he couldn’t sit still. He changed positions on the couch every three minutes, shifting from cushion to cushion, sitting cross-legged, then with his feet on the floor, with his legs crossed right over left, then left over right, reclining with his feet resting on the coffee table, laying completely flat, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and stood up.

All the while he drank his tequila, hoping that eventually it would work its magic. It did, but not the way Kurt wanted it to. Reaching the half bottle mark became the impetus behind one unfortunate, drunken dial - one that he would later look back on and want to punch himself for, since it contradicted everything he felt about his relationship with this person.

Yup, sulking home alone, wide awake and finally drunk, Kurt did something he wouldn’t be proud of.

Kurt even groaned as he dialed the number, his rational brain reminding him one final time before a swig of tequila rendered it useless for the remainder of the night that most decisions made while drunk are bad ones. Bad, bad, super-bad ones.

But tequila brain convinced Kurt to give it a shot anyway, glossing over all of things he had to lose, like a good friend and his self-respect. (Though, days later, he would send a box of Japanese butt-shaped candy to apologize, along with a card that read, “I’m a big butt, and I cannot lie,” which would be accepted with laughter and a hug.)

The phone rang twice, and a cheerful man answered. “Hey! Kurt! Long time no hear from!”

“I know, I know,” Kurt said, trying not to slur his words. “I’m sorry about that. I should have called earlier.”

“Well, you’re calling now. That’s all that counts,” Adam said. “So, what do I owe this honor?”  

“I was just wondering …” Kurt did his best to flirt without sounding as sloshed as he felt “… if maybe you’d like to come over and hang out.” Kurt’s suggestion was met with silence, so he pushed a little harder. “We haven’t hung out in _ages_. I miss our _Downtown Abbey_ marathons. I think I’m behind by about three seasons.” Kurt attempted to laugh, but with his throat dry and burning, he ended up coughing instead.

“Okay,” Adam said, unsure. “Forgive me if I’m wrong but aren’t you seeing Blaine?”

“No,” Kurt answered quickly, shaking his head for emphasis even if Adam couldn’t see him. “Not together … no … not at all.”

“So, does that mean that you and he …?”

“Yup. Over.” The words caught in Kurt’s throat. “Over and done with for a while now.”

“A-ha.” Adam sounded unconvinced, but slightly amused. “And you sound smashed out of your gourd because …?”

“I’m not!” Kurt turned away from the receiver to cover a hiccup, and Adam chuckled. “Well, maybe I had a sip or two. I just … I wanted to loosen up a little. You know ...”

Adam went quiet, and Kurt, not eager to make a bigger fool of himself then he knew he was making, went quiet, too. He had lobbed this ball – this deflated, pathetic ball – into Adam’s court. He had to wait and see what Adam would do with it.

“Kurt, I know what you’re doing.”

“What? What am I doing?”

“I told you before, I don’t want to be your rebound. And I definitely don’t want to be your revenge fuck. I care about you too much.”

“You won’t be my rebound, _or_ my revenge fuck,” Kurt promised, hating the way his voice sounded needy and desperate. “I swear.”

“Kurt, I will come over there this instant and make love to you on every hard surface in your loft if you can tell me right now that you are not in love with your ex.”

“I …” Kurt whimpered at the visual of Adam – strong and muscular, but also sweet and tender Adam – making love to him on the floor, against the wall, in his bed, on the sofa (where Blaine would catch them whenever he came back). And he wanted it. He wanted slow, romantic, and even dirty sex all over the loft.

But he wanted it with Blaine.

Kurt couldn’t have that, and probably _wouldn’t_ have that at this point. Blaine was moving on. Didn’t that mean that he should move on, too?

He thought he had, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“I’m … I’m not in love with him,” Kurt persisted. “I …” But he couldn’t get rid of the stammer in his voice, and that had nothing to do with the tequila. It had to do with him insisting on something that his brain and body knew wasn’t true.

“You don’t sound all that convincing, love.”

Kurt sighed. He wanted to put forth a better argument. He wanted to convince Adam, but more than that, he wanted to convince himself. But he couldn’t, and he never felt lower in his life.

“Kurt, you’re a great guy. An _amazing_ guy. Any man would be more than lucky to have you, and I hope I get to be that man one day. So, if we get together, I want it to last. But if I come over now, I don’t think we’ll ever have a chance.”

“You’re … right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Adam said, sighing like he had hoped for one more objection on Kurt’s part, one more insistence that things were over between him and Blaine. All Adam needed was one more and he’d be on the subway. But Kurt didn’t. “I think it’s safe to say that we’ve all been there. Just … call me when you’re certain this is what you want.”

“Yeah,” Kurt agreed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Goodbye, Kurt.”

“Goodbye, Adam.” Kurt hung up. He put his phone on the coffee table and sat in silence, shame and guilt shoving jealousy over to get a seat at the dysfunctional dinner table.

Kurt wondered how Blaine’s date was going. What were they talking about? What were they doing? What did they have for dinner? (He assumed they’d be eating dinner. It was already – Jesus Christ! Ten o’clock!?) Did they stay in, or did they go out to a movie? Or more drinking and dancing? Did they kiss? And if they did, did Blaine kiss him first? Were they actually having _sex_? Sex on the first date wasn’t Blaine’s style … except for the time he cheated. But, for argument’s sake, if they _were_ having sex, which Kurt highly doubted, he wondered (selfishly, but still) would Blaine think about him at all?

That was one question that Kurt had had about the night Blaine cheated that he’d never had the courage to ask. Was Blaine thinking about Kurt when he was sleeping with that rando guy from Facebook? Did any thoughts of Kurt pop into Blaine’s head? Did Blaine erase him completely … or had he been there all the time? Was thinking about Kurt, fantasizing about him, the only way Blaine could have sex with someone he didn’t even know? Or was the opposite true?

Thinking about it brought him back to the one day he kept trying to forget but couldn’t. Except this time Kurt had seen the guy. This time he had a frame of reference that made this nightmare more vivid. When he closed his eyes, he saw them together, peeling off each other’s clothes, Blaine’s hands running down his skin, his mouth everywhere, his tongue licking, lapping, caressing …

Kurt knew how it felt, how every single one of Blaine’s kisses felt, every single one of his touches. He felt them on his skin now, remnants from last night and early this morning blazing hot to torment him.

And Kurt couldn’t move.

So Kurt sat on the sofa, staring at the loft door, not because he was necessarily waiting for Blaine to come home, but because time had stopped in Kurt’s head. He got so lost in thinking, visualizing, feeling, and then hating himself, that night became day before Kurt had consciously blinked his eyes.

When he saw Blaine prying the loft door open, trying to do it quietly so he could sneak through, Kurt knew. He just knew. And all of those touches became unbearable, because they didn’t just belong to him. Someone else had them, too.

But Kurt couldn’t blame Blaine.

This was _Kurt’s_ idea.

 _Kurt_ had said it was the right thing for both of them. Kurt had said it, and Blaine had agreed. They both agreed, and now Blaine was acting on it. He was doing what _Kurt_ had said he wanted, what Kurt had tried to get him to do the night before.

What Kurt thought he needed in order to get closure.

But it didn’t feel that way anymore.

He didn’t have closure. He had a broken heart.

 


	4. The Chapter Where Blaine Says Goodbye

For the remainder of the week, Kurt and Blaine barely saw each other, and they definitely didn't speak. They didn’t text. They didn’t even acknowledge one another if they happened to find themselves in the same room together. Kurt left the loft earlier than necessary every morning to seek refuge at his favorite coffee house, drowning his sorrows in various flavors of chai tea since nonfat mochas had suddenly developed the power to bring him to tears.

They didn’t make eye contact when they passed each other in the halls at school between classes, but Blaine would often turn and watch Kurt walk away when he knew that Kurt wouldn’t catch him.

Blaine couldn’t help it.

He missed him.

Blaine spent his nights with DeLeon since the man’s days in New York were numbered. Soon he would be packing up and boarding a flight to London. After that, Blaine had no idea what would happen back at the loft.

Would Kurt continue to ignore him? Leave early every day and look past him in the hallways?

Could Blaine live like that, with Kurt acting like he didn’t exist?

Blaine contemplated moving out since he didn't want to make Kurt uncomfortable. He didn't want Kurt to feel like he had to go to extraordinary lengths to avoid him. The loft had been Kurt’s home long before Blaine moved to New York, but Blaine could easily imagine Kurt hiding in the costume shop at NYADA at night, or the vault at _Vogue_ so he wouldn't have to come home to a place where Blaine lived.

Blaine didn’t want that. If their friendship was over, and he _prayed_ it wasn’t over, he didn’t want chasing Kurt out of his home to be the last impression Kurt had of him.

On DeLeon's last night in New York, Blaine made an attempt to chip away at Kurt's carefully constructed armor by inviting him along to their Bon Voyage night out on the town.

Blaine and DeLeon had come up with the idea to invite Kurt together, but Blaine made it a point not to mention that part.

"Come on, Kurt," Blaine begged, checking his watch for the twentieth time in five minutes, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by Kurt, who shielded himself behind his issue of _Vogue_. "It's going to be a blast! And you need to get out. You haven't gone out a single night this week, have you?"

"How would _you_ know?" Kurt grumbled, pretending to read an article on the resurgence of dyed faux fur accents. "You aren't here at night anymore. I could be whoring myself out in your bedroom and you wouldn't have a clue."

"Kurt, I think I'd notice _that_ ," Blaine chuckled, hoping that comment was Kurt's attempt at diffusing a tense situation through humor. This was the first time they’d spoken to one another all week. Frankly, Blaine was ecstatic that Kurt didn’t immediately vault off the couch and race into his bedroom the second Blaine walked through the loft door. He took it as a good sign. But when Kurt didn't even crack a smile, Blaine realized that Kurt was still upset, more so than Blaine had anticipated.

This week they’d spent apart had done little to cool Kurt’s temper.

Kurt turned the page he had been glaring murderously at, even though he’d only read the headline and photo captions.

"But, seriously," Blaine continued, "I think you'd have a great time."

Kurt scoffed and turned another unread page, counting the minutes until Blaine left so he could get a start on his pity party.

"Do you think I want to watch you and your stewardess friend pawing all over each other while I sit in a corner and chug Shirley Temples? If I want to watch porn, I can stream it off the Internet. I've been considering getting a Cockyboys membership, anyway."

Blaine sighed. Kurt and porn weren't two words that one often uttered in the same sentence. The thought of Kurt sitting on the couch, miserable and alone, with a cheesecake in his lap, watching two guys going at it through the spaces between his fingers the way a little kid watches a slasher film, grabbed a hold of Blaine’s heart and twisted.

Once again, Blaine considered canceling and staying home. He wouldn’t tell Kurt this time since Kurt would probably just tell him to go. Yes, DeLeon was leaving for London in the morning, but Blaine had spent quite a bit of time with him this week. He was sure DeLeon would understand.

Even if he didn't, would it matter? DeLeon was leaving, and who knew when he would be back.

A loud knock ended the non-conversation.

The door slid open and DeLeon stepped in. "Hey guys!"

“Hey!” Blaine turned and waved cheerfully to the man headed his way, but a second later, his eyes darted back to Kurt. In the small space of time that Blaine had turned his attention away, Kurt had huddled as close to the arm of the couch as possible, with the edges of the throw wrapped around his shoulders clutched tight in his fist. He hunched down, burying himself deeper into an interview with Rihanna.

DeLeon sashayed up to Blaine. He laced a hand with Blaine’s and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Kurt groaned quietly, his nose practically sinking into the seam of his magazine.

"Sorry for the intrusion," DeLeon said in the rhythm of a Beyonce song he’d been humming. Kurt frowned. He didn’t expect the man to have such a melodious tenor voice. But why not? The man was built, handsome, and could apparently carry a tune. And now he was dating Blaine. The man had everything. "But Blaine said you guys usually keep the door unlocked and that I could come right in. How you get away with that out here in Brooklyn, I'll never understand."

“It helps that we don’t own anything worth stealing,” Blaine joked.

“Oh, I don’t know.” DeLeon raised a hand to run a finger down Blaine’s cheek. “I’d break in here just to snatch up the two of you.”

Blaine kissed DeLeon’s hand when it came close to his mouth.

Kurt smiled begrudgingly, but didn't lift his eyes from his magazine.

DeLeon bent over to catch Kurt's gaze. When he realized he wouldn't, he stood back up. Never one to be deterred, he smiled, preparing to try again.

"You know, for a fashion maven such as yourself, this look is a little low-key for the night we had in mind, Kurt."

Kurt harrumphed. DeLeon smile wider.

"He said no," Blaine answered for him, gazing plaintively at the rug beneath his feet. DeLeon looked from the disappointed man by his side to the stubborn one sitting on the couch, staring at an ad for Dior, and decided to try, and _succeed,_ where Blaine had failed.

"Well, too bad." DeLeon grabbed Kurt by the arm and dragged him to his feet. "It wasn't a request. So put on the sexiest thing you have, darling, because we are partying hardy with six of the hottest men who ever played for our team. And get a move on. You've got five minutes."

Kurt glared, mortified, at the man with tremendous biceps who practically lifted him into the air, but then he caught sight of Blaine staring at his shoes with a hopeful smile on his lips.

Kurt could never refuse that smile. It was Kurt’s kryptonite. But he wasn't going to pretend to be happy about it.

"Fine. But five minutes only gets you _mildly_ sexy. If you want truly devastating, I'll need fifteen."

"Take your time then. I’m willing to wait for devastating. I’ve heard it’s something to see." DeLeon swatted Kurt on the backside. Kurt spun, shooting daggers at both of them when they dissolved into giggles, turning in toward one another like conspiratorial teenagers. He stared at them a little longer than he should have, which is why he saw DeLeon lean in to kiss Blaine’s neck … and Blaine close his eyes to enjoy it.

And somewhere in his heart, that he had let grow hard against any amount of Blaine's lingering love for him, a single sliver fractured off.

***

They took three subways into Manhattan to a nightclub Kurt had never heard of before, but that DeLeon insisted was  _the_  hangout for flight attendants when they hit the city.

“It has an awesome vibe,” he said, leading Kurt from the subway car with their arms linked together (the other looped inside Blaine's, walking three across with DeLeon in the center like they were performing in an all-male remake of _The Wizard of Oz,_ skipping down the Yellow Brick Road), “the _hottest_ dancers, the tastiest specialty drinks, and the music! _Man_ , it is _always_ bumping! Am I right, Blainey?”

Kurt turned his head to look past DeLeon at Blaine. _Blainey_?

“Yeah,” Blaine agreed, looking at Kurt. “This place is _seriously_ fantastic, and the music is on hit! You’re gonna love it!”

Kurt watched DeLeon bend to Blaine’s ear and whisper something that made him nod and titter. “Oh my _God_!” Blaine said. “I totally forgot! That was the _best_!”

So, _Blainey_ agreed it was hot. Which meant he'd already been there.

They hadn’t even left the subway and Kurt hated it immediately.

They could hear the music pounding all the way from the subway turn-stall. Once they got up top and crossed the street, Kurt saw that the line to get in wrapped completely around the building. But DeLeon blew by the line and managed to get them through the ropes, kissing the cheeks of the bouncers at the entrance. The trio had barely taken a step through the doors when they were mobbed by six extremely handsome, astonishingly well-built men, with freakishly perfect teeth and flawless skin.

 _That must be the package deal for flight attendants_ , Kurt thought. _The minute you sign on, they cap your teeth and perform some ritual that magically fixes your skin._ But even as he privately jeered, he made a note to ask one of these guys what exfoliator and moisturizers they used because _damn_!

“Kurt” - DeLeon put his hands on Kurt’s shoulders in a familiar way that irritated Kurt to no end - “this is Savon, Michael, Kevin, Trey, Dominick, and Stephen. Guys …” DeLeon pushed Kurt slightly forward, as if presenting him for the group’s approval. “ _This_ is Kurt.”

“So, we finally get to meet the famous Kurt,” Kevin said, taking Kurt’s hand in his and kissing it.

“Enchante,” Savon said, taking Kurt’s other hand at kissing it as well.

"Oh … my … goodness,” Kurt murmured. “ _Why_ don't I fly more often?" He was sure no one could hear him over the pulsing music, but DeLeon did.

“I’ll find a way to comp you some tickets so you can join our Mile High Club,” he whispered. “Have at him, boys!” He shoved Kurt headlong into the throng of men and let them lead the way out on to the dance floor.

Twelve songs into the evening, Kurt's shirt clung to his torso, almost entirely see-thru with sweat, which Kurt normally hated, but he was loosening up. He felt more carefree than he had all week. These six guys, who seemed entirely focused on him and him alone, were so sweet, so nice, so complimentary, that he could almost let go and pretend that this was a normal night out, that he was free of his feelings for Blaine, but his enjoyment dimmed every time he caught a glimpse of Blaine and DeLeon grinding together, their hands all over each other, smiling, talking, sharing little pecks, lost in their own little world.

Kurt remembered that world.

And even surrounded by six men who could classify as super models, apparently willing to cater to his every whim, he missed that world.

He missed Blaine.

Another song started, a slower song. He saw Blaine and DeLeon wrap their arms around each other. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t not watch. He had to put some distance between him and them before he went crazy.

"I think I'm going to sit this one out, boys," Kurt announced. “Don’t miss me too much.” He walked briskly away to a chorus of disappointed groans and pleas to come back soon. He headed through the crowd toward a ring of tables, trying not to break into a gallop in his need to be away from Blaine and DeLeon.

But the universe rarely ever worked in Kurt's favor.

No sooner did he claim a vacant booth than DeLeon slid in beside him, lips curled in a devilish grin.

"Leaving the dance floor so soon?" he purred. "The party's just getting started."

"Yeah, well, I think I overdid it a bit," Kurt lied, gaze rising from DeLeon's eyes to lock with Blaine's as he joined them, his eyes wide and full of concern. “That dance floor’s a little too hot with me on it.”

"Why don't I get us some drinks?" Blaine offered, resting a hand on DeLeon's shoulder and squeezing gently. Kurt's eyes followed that hand, felt the squeeze on his own skin, and he swallowed hard.

"Nothing for me, thanks," Kurt said, looking away. “I’m good.”

DeLeon put a hand over Blaine's and patted gently. "I'll have a rum and coke.”

"You've got it," Blaine said with a wink. He waited one more pause to see if Kurt would change his mind, then headed off to the bar.

DeLeon watched him go.

When he turned back to Kurt, the mischievous glint was still in his eyes, but the expression on his face was much more serious.

"When are you going to tell that man that you’re still in love with him?" he asked, cutting to the chase.

Kurt sat straight up, jerking back in his seat. "Excuse me?" he said indignantly.

DeLeon rolled his eyes, far too done with this conversation already.

"I see you," DeLeon said, tapping his temple. "I see you watching us. If you think you're hiding anything, you're mistaken."

Kurt chuckled viciously. "Then maybe it’s a good thing you’re sitting down because I think the heat is getting to you. That, or you seriously need to have your vision checked."

DeLeon slid in closer. Kurt fought the urge to slide further away.

"You see, I want to like you," DeLeon said, "but when you say things like that, you make it _really_ hard. Now usually I'd tear you a new one for being such a bitch, especially when I went through the trouble to ensure that you would be _thoroughly_ entertained tonight, but seeing as you probably wouldn't be in this situation if your boy Blaine hadn't cheated on you, I'm gonna let it slide."

At the mention of his name, Kurt's eyes subconsciously swept the club to find him. And he did find Blaine, with surprising swiftness, standing at the bar, waiting for their drinks.

"Even hearing Blaine’s side of things, I’m gonna tell you, you weren’t wrong,” DeLeon continued. “And I told him that … _repeatedly_. He should have driven past that hotel, gotten on a plane, and talked to you face to face before sticking his dick in someone else. You have every right not to take him back if that’s what you really want. But I know that face. Fuck, I've even  _worn_  that face. And that is most definitely love, son."

DeLeon's expression softened, his eyes following Kurt's where they rested on Blaine's back. He could easily picture Kurt’s face on the night Blaine told him he cheated. Blaine’s story had broken DeLeon’s heart, but Kurt’s story, the one he hadn’t even heard from the source, hurt worse. It was the one that DeLeon could relate to. He had hoped that he could get Kurt to open up to him, but Kurt stayed tight lipped, staring longingly at his ex.

So DeLeon decided to try a different tactic to get Kurt to spill.

"Or maybe I'm wrong.” He shrugged. “Maybe those heart eyes of yours are staring at his sweet, sweet ass."

Kurt's head snapped so quickly back to the man beside him, he was sure he’d pulled something in his neck.

"Yup, that boy has a _fine_ behind," DeLeon remarked, watching Kurt react. As he suspected, Kurt's shoulders tightened, his back went rigid, and his jaw clenched. "Too bad I didn't get the chance to see it."

Kurt's hands balled reflexively, but his face morphed from disgust to confusion in the blink of an eye.

"Wait … b-but … he's been spending every night this week at your place. I thought you two were …"

"Well, the first night he came over I tried," DeLeon admitted. "Lord _knows_ I tried. But he stopped me before I could do anything." DeLeon grimaced at the memory. "And I was  _so_  close, too."

"So, what _did_ happen?" Kurt hated that he was curious, but he needed the truth to erase his heartbreaking fantasies of Blaine and this man making love to one another.

"He said he was sorry and asked if we could just be friends. Seeing as I'm leaving for London and then God knows where after that for a few months, I agreed it was probably for the best."

Kurt felt relieved, which he knew he probably shouldn’t. He was being unfair. He had no exclusive rights to Blaine anymore. And _he_ had made that decision. But he was also confused. He shut his eyes, trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together, especially after what he had seen of their behavior with his own eyes. "So, what _has_ he been doing at your place?"

DeLeon shook his head, as if the answer was blaringly obvious and Kurt's denseness far from amusing. "Giving _you_ space."

Kurt threw his hands up in frustration. "Why didn’t he just tell me the truth?”

"No disrespect, man, but did you give him the chance? Or did you get upset and back him into a corner? Because I think both you and I know the answer to that."

Kurt wanted to be angry at Blaine for lying about sleeping with DeLeon, but then he thought about the last few days of avoiding Blaine like he was the plague or a Sears Department Store. His cheeks pinked with embarrassment, and then with a touch of anger. It was one thing for Kurt to recognize his own shortcomings, but another to have his ex's current sort-of platonic fling shove it in his face.

Shortcomings that DeLeon would only know if Blaine was talking about him behind his back.

Kurt’s eyes shot open wide. "Now wait …"

"Before you get all high-pitched on me, no, he didn't say anything," DeLeon said, his arms raised in defense. "I just happen to know a thing or two about flying off the handle. I can get kind of high-pitchy, too."

“So …”

“I guessed, and he _might_ have confirmed … vaguely. That’s all I’m sayin’. I don’t need to get that boy into any more trouble.” DeLeon chuckled. “He obviously does that fine on his own.”

Kurt nodded, relaxing even though he wasn't sure how any of this would change things between him and Blaine. But Kurt's shoulders squared again when another thought entered his mind.

"What about the grinding and the touching and the little kisses between the two of you?" Kurt asked, becoming high-pitchy anyway.

"So, I took a few liberties,” DeLeon said. “Can you blame me? Look at him. He's _gorgeous_ … but you already know that."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt watched Blaine walk toward their table, eyes trained solely on him as if he were the center of the known universe and a few others as well.

DeLeon saw it, too, and sighed. "Unfortunately for me, he's _all_ yours, sunshine."

Blaine set the drinks down, sliding a glass of clear, bubbly liquid overflowing with cherries in front of Kurt.

"I know you said you didn't want anything," Blaine said, "but I thought, you look so hot … I mean  _flushed_ … and just in case you changed your mind …"

DeLeon took his rum and coke and sipped it, recognizing with regret just how quickly he had disappeared from Blaine's notice. He wasn’t angry at Blaine. Blaine talked about Kurt like he was the moon and the stars. Even if DeLeon had had a chance with Blaine and they had slept together, he’d only be borrowing him.

It would have been fun, but DeLeon wanted more. He _deserved_ more.

He couldn’t have that with Blaine.

"Look," he interrupted, backing out of the booth, "I don't mean to drink and run, but I've got an early morning. I think I'm going to bow out now."

Blaine watched him stand, his shame at ignoring the man of the hour apparent in the way his mouth stopped working.

"B-but, DeLeon," Blaine stuttered. "Don’t go. I'm sorry if I …"

DeLeon put a hand over Blaine's lips and shushed him. “It’s alright. I get it.” He smiled at Blaine's apologetic eyes and leaned in close, kissing him gently on the lips. Kurt's drink suddenly became very interesting and he glued his eyes to it, counting the cherries in an effort not to burn holes into DeLeon's skull.

Why should Kurt be jealous of a little kiss if they weren’t dating? Though the way his heart seized up at the idea of Blaine kissing DeLeon back pretty much answered that question for him.

DeLeon pulled away from Blaine's lips, sparing a glance at Kurt, who was staring down his drink as if the cherries were marked for death.

"I think it's time you fixed this once and for all, don't you?" DeLeon whispered. Blaine looked at Kurt, too, curled over his drink the same way he had been on the couch when he was crawling into his magazine. He had so many walls built up around him. Blaine did that. Those walls hadn’t been there for years after Blaine helped knock the original ones down. These were new, and they’d been built to protect Kurt’s heart from being broken … by Blaine.

With a final hug, DeLeon walked off into the crowd, disappearing from view.

"You know, come to think about it, I should probably call it a night, too." Kurt slid out of the booth from the opposite end so as not to disturb Blaine, who stared blankly into the crowd as if trying to summon DeLeon back. Kurt was confused how DeLeon could assume that Blaine only wanted Kurt when he seemed genuinely smitten for the sage man who had just gone. Kurt headed off in a different direction, but a hand grabbing his stopped him.

"Don't go," Blaine pleaded softly, his voice managing to rise above the noise even with Kurt's back turned. Blaine pressed his body against Kurt’s, not overbearing or aggressive, the simple warmth of his presence bleeding into Kurt’s skin and simply making itself known.

"Blaine," Kurt started, not sure what he wanted to say, hoping the words would come to him as soon as he opened his mouth, and that he would actually mean them, whatever they were.

"Dance with me?" Blaine dared an arm around Kurt's waist. "Please? Just … just once before you go?"

“You sure you haven’t had enough dancing?” Kurt snapped. “I mean, it looked like you were getting your fill before.”

“It’s not the same when I’m not with you.”

Kurt felt himself melting into Blaine's arm, molding against his body, and it frightened him. It would be this simple, wouldn't it? To fall back together? But what would that mean?

Could it last this time?

He thought about it as he followed Blaine out onto the dance floor, as he let himself get wrapped up in Blaine’s arms, swaying with him to music that didn't match their beat since the music over the speakers pounded through the floor like a rainstorm, and they glided along together like a wave. Between the beats and the laughter and the loud voices, Kurt could hear the occasional  _I'm sorry_ …

_I miss you so much …_

_You have no idea how much …_

_I love you …_

_I love you more now than I ever have …_

_I'll do anything …_

_Anything you want …_

_I'll even move out … give you more space …_

_Just please say we get to be boyfriends again …_

Kurt heard every word, and he believed them. But before he made any decisions, there were a few things he needed to know. “I … have to ask you something.”

“Anything.”

“Why did you make me think you and DeLeon had slept together? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Because …” Blaine looked guilty, maybe even more guilty than he had when he told Kurt he’d been with someone else “… when I came home, you were drunk … and you looked destroyed. I was confused, and I wanted to help, but I didn’t know what to do to make it better. You’d been trying for so long to get me together with someone. I thought that if you thought I had been, then you could …”

“Could what?”

“Be free. Have closure so you could move on. It seemed to be what you wanted so much. I thought … I thought you were done with me and that, somehow, I was hurting you. I didn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

“Well, unfortunately, I think we were both damned if we did and damned if we didn’t.”

“Or, maybe we’re just …”

“… made for each other?” Kurt finished. He was going to say _stubborn_ , but for some reason _that_ came out instead.

Blaine didn’t agree or disagree, but Kurt knew that’s how he felt. He didn’t need to confirm it.

That’s part of what it means when you belong with someone.

Blaine raised a hand to caress Kurt’s cheek and nuzzled his neck.

“Please tell me you still love me,” Blaine whispered. “I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry, Kurt. I’m so _so_ sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being sorry. And if you want to remind me every day for the rest of my life, then that’s fine, but let me spend that life with you. Tell me I have a chance to fix this. Let me try. We can go to counseling, or I’ll go by myself if you don’t want to go with me. I’ll take classes on how to be a better boyfriend. I’m sure they have some somewhere. And if I can’t make things better, then I’ll accept that I can’t, and I’ll respect any decision you make. I swear I will. But can I have a second chance? Just one more?”

Kurt felt lips press tentatively against his neck, begging for an answer, and with every shy kiss, Kurt felt himself cave. Kurt knew exactly what he wanted. He had for a while. And it didn’t take DeLeon draping his handsome self all over Blaine for Kurt to decide.

Kurt wanted Blaine. Even when he didn’t want Blaine, he wanted Blaine. Even when he couldn’t forgive Blaine, he missed him. Even when he never wanted to speak to Blaine again, sometimes all he wanted was to hear his voice. He hated how much he wanted Blaine because he felt like he was betraying himself, but the fact remained.

And Blaine wanted him, too.

But that was too much for him to put into words without sobbing like an idiot.

"Grrr! Alright, you colossal pain in the ass!" Kurt groaned, feeling a smile on Blaine's lips grow against his skin. "I can't _believe_ we're doing this again! But if we are, we're doing it _my_ way. We're taking it slow. Do you understand?"

“Of course,” Blaine said with a giggle, his lips eagerly finding Kurt's, kissing him in reply.

***

It was 3 a.m., and it was _sweltering_. Not in general, and not outside considering it was winter, but in the loft, specifically in Blaine's bedroom, the air was stifling.

Kurt moved over Blaine's body with a deliberate slowness, pushing in deep, then pulling out to the tip, drawing out every low, long moan he possibly could from the man who arched beneath him, sweat rolling down his spine. Kurt had bound Blaine’s wrists with a few of his old scarves, tied together end-to-end so that his left wrist was connected to his right by a string of fabric running underneath the mattress. The more he pulled, the tighter the knots became. There was no way for him to slip free.

Not that Blaine wanted to move. He never wanted to go anywhere ever again.

" _God_ , I missed this," Blaine growled, his voice rough, his body burning. He rose up to meet Kurt when Kurt pushed in again, deeper this time, as if such a thing were even possible. But somehow, Kurt found a way. Kurt met Blaine's mouth and kissed him hard, sucking his top lip between his teeth and biting to hear Blaine whine, to feel him shudder. "At least we're not drunk this time," he remarked when Kurt pulled away.

"Yeah," Kurt agreed, grinning at Blaine's debauched expression, at the fingernail tracks raising welts down his back, at his damp curls clinging to his cheeks, "but so much for taking things slow."

 


End file.
